The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

With twenty pounds but three weeks since

From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel,

I thought myself as rich a prince

As beggar poor I'm now at Lille.

Confiding in my ample means-

In troth, I was a happy chiel!

I passed the gate of Valenciennes.

I never thought to come by Lille.

I never thought my twenty pounds

Some rascal knave would dare to steal;

I gayly passed the Belgic bounds

At Quievrain, twenty miles from Lille.

To Antwerp town I hastened post,

And as I took my evening meal

I felt my pouch,-my purse was lost,

O Heaven! Why came I not by Lille?

I straightway called for ink and pen,

To grandmamma I made appeal;

Meanwhile a load of guineas ten

I borrowed from a friend so leal.

I got the cash from grandmamma

(Her gentle heart my woes could feel),

But where I went, and what I saw,

What matters? Here I am at Lille.

My heart is weary, my peace is gone,

How shall I e'er my woes reveal?

I have no cash, I lie in pawn,

A stranger in the town of Lille.